Page 43 of Thornhill Road

“Well, it’s true!”

He turned toward me and asked, “I need to fuck you right here to remind you of our previous conversation?”

“No—no, Mustang,” I replied, exasperated. “I don’t need you to remind me how good you are at making me come. Fantastic sex aside, that doesn’t explain biscuits and eggs!”

“I know enough to know I want more, Tess. Cookin’ burgers in your kitchen before I fuck you ‘til you pass out, followed by biscuits and eggs for breakfast before more fucking gets me that. I get your number in my phone, you get mine in yours, we’ll keep doing this until you stop tellin’ me I don’t know you.”

I liked all of that. A lot. Too much.

I could barely catch my breath, my chest swelling with a dangerous amount of hope.

I needed a way out of this. I needed him to want to leave before it was too late.

“What about Ed?” I blurted, grasping at the only ammo I had.

“Already established, he’s got nothin’ to do with this.”

“He’s my patient.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “So, you’re supposed to be celibate because you’re a nurse with patients?”

This time, I wasn’t so quick with a rebuttal. What he said reminded me of my conversation with Jenna just a few days before.

I was losing my resolve to fight.

I switched tactics and asked, “Why do you hate him so much?”

“Don’t hate him, sugar. He doesn’t get that from me. He gets nothing.”

“But why?”

“Because the only person he’s ever cared about in his entire god-forsaken life is himself,” he began, his face harder than I’d ever seen it, and his eyes cold—like they were the first time I mentioned his father. “The nicest thing he ever did for me was give me my first bike—after he bought it for himself and fuckinwreckedit drivin’ drunk.

“If he wasn’t calling me a sorry ass waste of space, he was pickin’ my mom apart piece by piece. Don’t know why she stayed. Loved him, I guess. And that love got her dead. So, I don’t hate him, Tess. If I did, I might be dead now, too—but I plan on livin’ long and free in spite of that jackass.

“Now are you going to eat your damn eggs before they get cold or what?”

A great wave of resolve washed over me, and all the muscles in my body relaxed as I stared into those hazel-blue eyes; eyes thatwere the picture by which I could piece together the puzzle that was Ed and Mustang; the puzzle that just became a little clearer.

Mustang had said he knew enough about me to know he wanted more.

I knew enough about him to be sure I couldn’t fix what was broken between father and son. More than that, I knew I wanted the man who made me biscuits and eggs at four in the morning, whether his father was my patient or not—so I stopped pretending otherwise.

I’d deal with the fall out later.

Pointing at the drawer behind him, I simply replied, “I’ll need silverware.”

Not five minutes later, we were both at my kitchen table eating breakfast.

Mustang’s plate was half empty when he asked, “You off at four?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You work the day shift tomorrow?”

“No. Friday is my night shift. If my patients remain stable, I won’t have to start work until eight.”

“Good. Dinner. Tonight. Pick you up at six.”

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